A friend in need
by mrso
Summary: How far will the Musketeers be prepared to go to save the life of a friend? Constance is kidnapped and its up to the boys to come to the rescue again. Set after series 1, but as if Constance had not already been kidnapped in the season finale.
1. Contentment

The street in the back alleys of Paris was quiet, perfectly and unusually still, seemingly deserted but for the sharpshooters at almost every window, crouching behind carts and barrows, their weapons cocked and focussed, waiting for their targets to appear. It was a perfect spot for ambushing musketeers, and like any good trap an irresistible bait was knelt in the centre of the street, hands firmly fastened behind her back with course rope, blindfolded and gagged so she couldn't alert her would be rescuers of the danger till it was too late. Constance's breath hitched in her throat, and she gagged again against the fabric in her mouth, teetering on the edge of panic as she strained her ears to make any sense of the scene. It seemed as if all of Paris was holding its breath as she heard the distinctive rumble of horse and cart at the far end of the street, a brief pause, then the entire word seemed to explode around her.

Two days previously.

Constance fussed around her kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the meal she was cooking; dodging around the four men gathered in the room, without pause she knocked Porthos' feet from off the table, and shot Aramis a stern look as he snorted in amusement into his drink at Porthos' surprised expression. Athos watched the scene from his usual spot in the corner, while D'artagnan reached for her as she passed, pulling her down onto his lap and nuzzling her neck. Playfully she briefly slapped his hand away, kissing him briefly on the mouth before returning to her carefully cooked meal.

It had been six months since her husband had left. Constance had known for a while that business was poor, but she had no clue as to the severity of the problem till she woke up one morning to find that her husband had crept out of the house in the night, taking with him all of the couples money, Constance's few pieces of jewellery and any item of value in the house, even down to the candle sticks. Destitute and facing eviction and starvation on the streets Constance had made her way to the musketeer's garrison to the only people she knew would not judge her or desert her. True to their reputation as gallant soldiers they had instantly agreed to help. Within hours Aramis had come to her door with a small bag of coins, unpaid debts to the business that the soldiers had seen collected. Within a few weeks it had been decided that as Constance would need to take on lodgers and her large comfortable house was convenient for both the garrison and their favourite taverns that it made sense for them to move in to her home. In addition to the financial security the arrangement afforded, Constance took great comfort from the safety and security that having four musketeers in residence provided, shielding her from the worst of the towns gossip about her husband's flight, and the scandal of a still technically married woman sharing her home with so many men. In their turn Constance cooked their meals, fixed their uniforms, and on the all too frequent occasions that one of them returned injured, acted as a very capable nurse. Occasionally she even had a part to play in their missions, when only a woman's touch would do. The day after her husband's abandonment D'artagnan had come to her, and re professed his feelings for her, and now it felt like they had never been parted. For the first time in her life, with these men around her Constance had finally learnt what contentment felt like.


	2. Taken

After dinner was done and cleared away Porthos and Athos quickly disappeared to the tavern, Porthos to find a gullible Red Guard to play cards with, and Athos to back him up in the inevitable brawl that would follow. Aramis excused himself to his room, explaining he needed to clean his pistol, as always the most fastidious amongst them when it came to weapons maintenance.

D'artagnan remained with Constance in the kitchen, sliding his arms around her from behind as she washed up, pulling her hair away from her neck to plant gentle kisses to the delicate skin at the nape of her neck. Sighing in satisfaction Constance leant back against his touch, dropping her head to his shoulders to allow him better access. For a moment she relaxed in the comforting circle of his arms, before turning to face him, wet hands raising to play affectionately in his hair. "I'm never going to get any work done round here with you around am I?" D'artagnan laughed his voice a sultry whisper, "And I suppose you'd rather be washing up than letting me entertain you instead?" Constance regretfully kissed him on the cheek. "If you had your way I'd never have time to do any of the housework. Why don't you go and join Athos and Porthos for a drink. By the time you get back I'll be finished and you can _entertain_ me to your heart's content." D'artagnan grinned, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "Did I ever tell you that you are the best, most kind woman in the word?" "I believe you have mentioned it." With a final kiss he left the room, leaving Constance to her task.

Aramis sat on the broad windowsill in his room, the window wide open to let in the cool night air, his head bent over the pistol in his hand. Most nights he'd be in the tavern with his brothers in arms, but he did not gain the reputation as the finest marksman in the regiment by leaving his tools to fall into the slightest disrepair; as he had once told D'artagnan "Respect your weapon and your weapon will respect you." Finally satisfied with his handiwork he leant his head back again the window frame, casting a glance into the courtyard below. As he watched Constance walked out, lantern in hand to the well in the centre of the square, completely unaware of Aramis' eyes on her. She was an amazing woman, Aramis thought; in the time they had lived in the same house he had grown much closer to her, respecting her courage and resilience in the face of the previous months challenges. This new life had been hard for her, with no money to employ the servants she had been used to Constances working day was long and hard, and sometimes Aramis wondered if she knew how much himself, Porthos and Athos had come to love and respect her as a sister. His weapon cleaning complete Aramis stood, turning away from the window, deciding to give Constance a hand with the heavy well bucket when the clear sound of glass shattering split the night. Spinning back to the window he saw the lamp broken on the courtyard stone, the distant splash of the well bucket hitting the water at the bottom of the deep shaft, his eyes searched the darkness for Constance but she was suddenly alarmingly absent.

Grabbing his pistols he raced down the stairs and out into the courtyard, calling her name, his soldiers instincts telling him that something was very very not right. Ears straining for the slightest sign of Constance he span on the spot, as the familiar clatter of galloping horse's hooves on the paved road broke the silence. Following the sound he dashed out into the road, just in time to see two horses, speeding away from the house. In the darkness he could just make out that while one horse was ridden by a single masked rider, the other horse in addition to the rider had the unmistakeable shape of a woman draped unceremoniously across the front of the saddle. _Constance._

With the battlefield instincts of the veteran soldier he was Aramis didn't hesitate in dropping to one knee and carefully aiming his pistol at the retreating riders. A deafening shot rang out, and the lone rider fell heavily from his horse. Aramis swore softly as the horse bearing his friend galloped away, even as Aramis ran to the fallen kidnapper.

Reaching the criminal lying face down in the mud Aramis roughly grabbed his coat, turning him round to face him, realising with a sinking heart that his shot had caught the man in the chest and he clearly only had minutes to live. With no time for extended interrogation Aramis cut his question down to the most basic, taking hold of the dying mans lapels and pulling him almost nose to nose, a note of menace in his voice. "Where were you taking her?" The man beneath him wheezed, a foam of blood at his mouth. "You'll never find her, gonna have some fun with that pretty little one." With a rattle of bloody breath Aramis recognised the lights going out in his eyes, and disgusted he lowered the corpse back to the filthy street floor. For a moment he allowed despair to overwhelm him, pressing his hands to his face as he knelt next to the body.

A voice shouting his name made him look up as he recognised his three best friends running towards him, taking in his defeated look, the bloody corpse next to him. Athos was the first to speak as he and Porthos pulled Aramis to his feet "Care to fill us in?" D'artagnan was already looking back towards the house, perhaps sensing something more sinister than a street fight had transpired here, and Aramis could not meet his eye as he quietly whispered "They took Constance."


	3. Fishing for clues

D'artagnan stumbled backwards, colour draining from his face as Aramis' words hit him with the force of a physical blow. "What do you mean took her? Who? How?" Suddenly he launched himself at Aramis, grabbing hold of his shirt front with both hands "Why didn't you stop them!" He roared. Porthos and Athos were already pulling him away, keeping a tight hold on his arms. Athos suddenly became aware of lights coming on in the surrounding houses, of movement in the road as the commotion began to attract attention. "Let's take this back to the house. We'll figure out what to do there." He dropped D'artagnan's arm, leaving Porthos to guide him back to their lodgings, turning to look at Aramis who was staring once more at the floor. The marksman looked up at Athos with a broken expression on his face that pulled at Athos' heart. "I tried to stop them Athos. Truly." He whispered. Athos lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I believe you." He glanced down at the dead man at their feet. "We should clear up this mess and find the others." Aramis nodded and together they picked up the body, and walked back to the house.

They deposited the corpse on the floor in the cellar, before returning to the kitchen to find that Porthos had already opened the brandy, pouring generous measures into glasses lined up on the mantelpiece. D'artagnan perched on the edge of a chair, white as a ghost, playing with something in his hand which Athos quickly recognised as one of Constance's hair ribbons. Silently Porthos handed round the glasses of spirits, D'artagnan merely sipping his, Athos the seasoned drinker downing the burning liquid in one swallow before setting the glass down with a thud and turning for the door. "Where are you going?" Porthos asked. "Aramis, you and D'artagnan see if you can get any clues from the body. Porthos, you and I are going fishing."

A little while later Aramis bent over the corpse in the cellar, methodically stripping the body of its clothes, before handing them to D'artagnan, who was stood a little to one side, holding the lantern and distastefully regarding Aramis' activities. Neither man had spoken since returning to the house and the tension in the small cellar was palpable. As Aramis removed the last garment, he turned to the table next to D'artagnan reaching for the water and cloth he had placed there. Suddenly D'artagnan reached out to him, putting a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier" he murmured. "I know you did all you could for Constance." For the first time since re-entering the house D'artagnan looked Aramis in the face, his voice breaking, and barely held tears in his eyes. "I don't know what I'll do if Iose her now." Without hesitating Aramis drew the younger man into a crushing embrace, both men gaining emotional comfort from the hug. "We'll find her" Aramis whispered against his hair. "I swear we'll find her."

Meanwhile in a tavern in one of the seedier parts of Paris Athos nursed a glass in a gloomy corner, surreptitiously watching Porthos talking at the bar to another customer. Aramis was too much of a gentleman not to stick out in this sort of crowd and D'artagnan was too young and too emotional to be trusted not to say the wrong thing, leaving himself and Porthos to dig for information amongst the poor of the city. He had spent too much time in portside taverns to stick out too much, and Porthos had been born here, fitting in easily with the gutter rats. The conversation was clearly drawing to an end as Porthos shook the man's hand and discreetly passed him a few coins before returning to join Athos. "He says that someone came in the other day asking about musketeers, boasting about some plan for revenge." Athos quirked an eyebrow. "Would he know him again?" "Porthos nodded. "I bribed him to send word to the garrison if he shows his face again." Athos took a long swig of his drink. "It's a long shot." Porthos nodded, slowly running a hand through his hair. "We just have hope Constance can hold on"


	4. What do you want with me?

The first thing Constance was aware as she slowly regained consciousness was the steady pounding in her aching head. Groaning she attempted to raise a hand to her head, realising with a thrill of horror that her hands were firmly tied behind her back, and at the same moment registering the gag in her mouth effectively silencing any cry for help she might have made, and the blindfold over her eyes.

Suddenly the nights events returned to her in a rush; sending D'artagnan to the tavern so she could get on with the chores, heading out to the courtyard to draw clean water from the well, the hands that clamped over her mouth and wrists from behind and pulled her away from the house's welcoming lights, the distant sound of the glass lamp breaking as she kicked it over in her struggle to raise attention to her plight, fighting to escape as she was unceremoniously hauled face down over a horses back, then finally the painful crunch of a man's fist meeting the side of her head before the world went dark.

Panic overtook her and in serious danger of either hyperventilating or vomiting it took every ounce of self discipline she possessed to regain control of herself. In her mind's eye she pictured D'artagnan and his three friends and tried to imagine what they would tell her to do in this situation. Aramis the field medic would of course have immediately checked her over for any injuries sustained while she was unconscious and so as best she could she took stock of the current condition of her own body. Wiggling her fingers and toes seemed to indicate she had no broken bones, but taking a deep breath was deeply painful, and Constance grimaced as she realised that her chest had somehow been badly bruised in the jolting horseback ride to her current prison. She could feel her wrists already being rubbed raw by their bonds, and with distaste became aware of the blood from a head wound dried on the side of her face, undoubtedly from the knockout punch.

Her reverie was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the metal on metal scrape of a bolt sliding and the creak of a door opening in her vicinity. Instinctively she backed herself away from the sound until she felt the cold brick of a wall behind her and she could retreat no further. She could hear footsteps approaching her, and then felt hands on her face, cupping her jaw. She jerked away from the touch but calloused fingers held her firm.

A rough voice in her ear. "Less of that."

Hands reached around the back of her head, unpicking the tight knot of her blindfold and pulling it away from her face. Constance blinked slowly, her head injury slowing the time it took for her vision to focus. Crouched in front of her, was a man she didn't recognise. He regarded her with amused eyes, the smile on his face almost kind were it not for the total lack of warmth behind it.

"Welcome Madame Bonacieux."

Constance looked up at him, fear and confusion clearly evenly showed on her face, and the man laughed under his breath, reaching a gloved hand out to touch the fabric covering her mouth.

"Yes I know who you are Constance. I'm sure you have questions too, so I'm going to take this off. If you scream however, you will regret it. Do you understand?" Constance nodded and he eased the gag from her mouth, leaving it hanging round her neck.

"What do you want with me?" She whispered her voice raw and hoarse.

"I have an old debt to pay and you are going to help me."

"I don't understand."

"Your friends, the Musketeers? I'm going to kill them all."

Constance's eyed widened in horror. "You're insane."

With lightning fast reactions he shot out a hand, grasping her throat in a bruising grip, whispering menacingly in her ear. "You would do well to watch your tongue. I have it in my power to make your life as comfortable or as unpleasant as I wish. You may want to think about that, before you die with your friends."

Releasing his grip he pulled the gag back over her mouth, pushed her roughly to the ground and angrily stalked from the room. Constance heard the bolts of the door slamming closed, sealing the doors of her prison, and what remained of her brave facade crumbled, tears flowing freely as she sobbed, both for herself, and in fear for her lover and his friends.


	5. A frustrating day

D'artagnan blinked in the early morning light as he woke. For a second all seemed right with the world, and he reached across the bed to touch the familiar warmth of Constance's sleeping form, but the cold side of the bed brought the remembrance of her forced absence crashing back to him.

Aramis had gleaned no information from the body of the kidnapper except that he was well armed and from the number of scars on his lean body was probably an experienced fighter, possibly even a trained mercenary. Eventually Athos and Porthos had returned with the little information they had gleaned from the bar patron. D'artagnan had paced the room like a wild animal, unable to settle until Athos had stood before him, laying a hand on each shoulder and ordered him gently but firmly to bed, pointing out that he would be no good to Constance if he was too tired to think. Even so D'artagnan had lain on top of the covers half dressed, rather than getting in, as if sleeping in the bed fully would acknowledge somehow the fact that Constance could not share it with him.

Stretching the sleep from his tired body he made his way down to the kitchen. Porthos was by the fire, tending a pot that hung over the flames, looking up as D'artagnan entered. "Athos and Aramis are already at the garrison letting the Captain know what's happened."

D'artagnan was already reaching for his jacket and sword, "We'd best catch up with them then." Porthos shot him one if his special withering looks, sliding a large bowl of porridge from the pot on the fire across the table. "I'm under strict orders not to let you go anywhere till you've eaten something.""

D'artagnan grunted in frustration "I haven't got time for this."

Porthos strode across the kitchen and forced D'artagnan to sit down, placing a spoon in his hand. "We need to take care of ourselves lad, rest and eat when we can, or we'll be no good to Constance when we find her. She'll need us at our best. So you can eat that voluntarily or I can hold you down and feed it to you." A moment's pause and the determined look in the bigger mans eye were all that were needed for D'artagnan to make up his mind, and grumpily he set his sword down and started to gulp the hot food down.

Arriving at the garrison a short while later, D'artagnan and Porthos were just in time to catch Aramis and Athos descending the stairs that led to the captains office. D'artagnan jogged across the courtyard to meet them. "What did he say?"

Athos straightened his hat. "Treveille is sending word out to all his contacts to find out what they know."

"What are we to do? We can't just sit here!"

"You and Aramis are to head down to the docks. Find out if anyone has seen or heard anything, but don't draw attention to yourself. We don't want to spook our target. Porthos, can you get in touch with Flea? We need to know if someone knows something at the Court of Miracles. I'll go with you. Treveille will send word if any message is sent here. This was no random attack. Whoever took Constance knew she was close to us. Someone had to feed them that information. Someone out there knows something. We'll meet back here at dusk."

Porthos and D'artagnan immediately headed for the stables for their horses but Athos held back Aramis a moment. "Keep an eye on D'artagnan. Don't let him do anything stupid." Aramis nodded, clasping Athos' hand briefly before they followed their comrades to their days work.

The light was fading as D'artagnan and Aramis returned to the garrison, weary from a long frustrating day. Porthos and Athos were already sat at the familiar table in the courtyard, plates of food in front of them. Handing their horses over to the stable boys they trudged over to join them, reaching out for the bread on the table and signalling to the garrison cook for more food. "Any luck?" Porthos asked. The frustration was clear on Aramis' face. "If anyone knows anything, they're keeping quiet. Any news from you?" Porthos shook his head. "This isn't Court business. All Flea could say was that the people were more scared than usual. She didn't know why but somethings got to them."

For a few minutes none of them said anything, busy with the meal. The food was good thought D'artagnan miserably, but it wasn't a patch on the delicious food he was used to Constance cooking. He pushed his plate away, the stew suddenly bitter in his mouth, and without a word stood and stalked away from the table, blindly walking the well trodden path to Constance's house.

The other three looked at each other, hesitating a moment, before Athos stood. "Stay here, I'll follow him."

Entering the house Athos thought at first he'd made a mistake and D'artagnan wasn't there, but as he quickly scanned the downstairs rooms a sound from the first floor caught his attention and he quietly climbed the stairs, one hand falling onto the hilt of his sword, while the other drew the pistol from his belt. If this wasn't D'artagnan he was damn sure he wasn't going to be taken by surprise. Once on the landing he could see the door to the bedroom Constance and D'artagnan shared was ajar. Taking a deep breath he pushed the door wide open, entering the room and aiming his pistol in a single fluid movement borne of years of combat experience.

D'artagnan stared at him from across the room, his sword already halfway out of his hilt and holding an identical pistol to Athos. For a moment neither of them moved; then releasing a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding, Athos put down his weapons, hooking his pistol back onto his belt, and putting his sword down on the dresser. D'artagnan leant back against the wall, slumping slightly as the adrenaline rush from Athos' dramatic entrance ebbed away. "What the hell Athos?"

"In case you had forgotten, someone has targeted this house once already. It seemed prudent to be cautious." The older man's expression softened. "We were concerned when you walked out. Are you alright?"

D'artagnan suddenly seemed to find the bedroom rug fascinating, refusing to look up and meet Athos' eye. "I'm fine Athos." he mumbled. "Just needed some space to sort my head out."

Athos was about to press the issue further when the front door below them flew open with a crash, and the familiar voice of Aramis reached them, calling their names as he hunted through the rooms for them. Grabbing his sword again Athos ran from the room, D'artagnan close on his heels. They met Aramis halfway down the stairs, breathless from running. "A messenger came to the garrison" he panted "The landlord of the tavern says our man's there now. Porthos has gone ahead, he'll meet us there" As a unit they headed for the door, D'artagnan pushing ahead, fresh energy in his step and a determined glint in his eye.


	6. Revelations

Porthos was waiting for them as they quietly approached the tavern. He had tactically placed himself at an angle to the dirty window so as to be able to see into the bar, but be shielded from view from inside. He nodded a greeting as they approached, addressing Athos. "I've got the usual set up in the back alley."

Athos and D'artagnan peered through the murky glass. "Which one's our man?" Athos whispered.

Porthos pointed at the crowd at the bar, drawing their attention to a particularly scrawny dark haired man with his back to them. He seemed to be on his own, signalling the bar keeper over and passing a bright coin across the bar in exchange for a new bottle of wine.

Rage thundered through D'artagnan at the sight of this man enjoying a drink if he had the slightest involvement in his loves disappearance, and he shot forward towards the door of the building, intending to pummel the information he so desperately wanted out of the man there and then. Two pairs of strong hands dragged him backwards and a hand clamped over his mouth. "Will you shut up and stop squirming" hissed Porthos as D'artagnan struggled in his and Athos's grip. "We'll never find out anything if you storm in there and start a mass brawl." D'artagnan slowly became still. Porthos and Athos maintained their grip for a moment before deeming it safe to release their hold on the emotionally charged young Gascon.

Aramis pulled D'artagnan back against the tavern wall into the shadows. Looking down the almost pitch black alleyway D'artagnan could just make out the outline of a horse and small covered wagon. He shot a questioning look at Aramis, who merely grinned an almost mischievous grin. "We may have done this sort of thing before."

"So what do we do?"

"Patience my young friend. We wait for our quarry to come to us."

They had to wait for almost an hour before the man finally stood to leave. Porthos, on watch at the window, silently signalled the other three. D'artagnan went to move forward but Athos stopped him with a gesture. "Let Aramis and Porthos take the lead," he whispered. "They're the best." Aramis inclined his head at the compliment, before taking position the opposite side of the door from Porthos.

Staggering slightly from drink, their target stumbled from the tavern, straight into the waiting arms of their trap. Porthos jammed a sack over his head, while Aramis effectively tackled him, wrapping his arms around their victim's middle, and propelling him round the corner into the shadows of the back alley in seconds. Before he even had a chance to react, Porthos drew his pistol, pressing the cold metal to the back of the unfortunate captive's neck, and assuming his most threatening voice.

"Not a word. Understand?"

A nod in reply.

By now, Aramis had efficiently bound the man's hands behind his back, and between him and Porthos they manhandled their prize into the back of the covered wagon. D'artagnan and Athos climbed up front and Athos took hold of the reins and steered the cart away from the tavern into the fresher air than that of the alley. The whole operation had taken less than a minute and D'artagnan glanced backwards through a gap in the fabric into the wagon itself. Their captive lay face down on the floor, completely immobilised by Porthos' knees across his shoulders, and the solid weight of Aramis sat on his legs, one of Aramis' distinctively engraved pistols rammed between the man's shoulder blades. It was clearly a well practiced position and D'artagnan shot Athos a questioning look. "Exactly how many times have they done this?"

Barely a quarter of an hour later they had reached the edge of the city, and Athos drew the horses to a stop outside what looked to D'artagnan to be a long abandoned warehouse. As the hopped down from the seat at the front, Aramis and Porthos were already dragging their captive from the covered cart, and into the dark doorway.

As D'artagnan's eyes adjusted to the dim light in the large empty room, Porthos was just finishing securing the prisoner to one of the broad upright roof supports that dotted the space. D'artagnan moved to stand in front of the tethered prisoner, next to Aramis and Athos. Porthos stood to join them, before leaning forward to finally pull the sack from the man's head. It was D'artagnan who broke the surprised silence that fell as their prisoner blinked up at them, the confusion and surprise evident in his questioning voice.

"Bonacieux? "

The half a year since he abandoned his wife had clearly not been kind to Constance's husband. Never a large man, he now was positively scrawny, his cheeks hollow and skin pale. His once carefully maintained facial hair was now stringy and untidy, and his clothes were dirty and ragged. He blinked owlishly up at the Musketeers, clearing his throat as he recognised the quartet stood above him. D'artagnan could see him calculating the best way to deal with his obviously precarious situation, before injecting a note of forced joviality into his slightly trembling voice.

"D'artagnan, gentlemen; my old friends! It's good to see you again."

Before any of them could react, D'artagnan's fist connected with Bonacieux's face with impressive force. Bonacieux's head snapped sideways, and he sagged against his bonds, spitting blood as Porthos and Aramis pulled D'artagnan away. White hot rage flooded through D'artagnan as he fought his brother's grasp on him. "Calm down!" Porthos urged him. "Hold it together. Let me and Aramis handle this." D'artagnan took a deep calming breath and nodded. Cautiously he was released, and Athos took his arm, guiding him to the other side of the room, just out of Bonacieux's sight line. "Don't worry, if he knows anything, Aramis and Porthos will find out."

Aramis smiled down at Bonacieux. "You were heard threatening musketeers, and now your wife is missing. If I were a betting man I'd think these two things were connected. Wouldn't you Porthos?" Seamlessly the two of them swung into their well practiced interrogation routine.

"He's probably going to say he doesn't know anything."

"And then we'll have to hurt him."

Coward that he was, Bonacieux cracked even before Aramis could raise his unloaded musket.

"Alright I'll tell you, just don't shoot me!"

Porthos stepped closer to him, "Talk."

"A man came in to the tavern, and we got talking. He said he hated the Musketeers, especially one in particular, a man named Athos."

D'artagnan felt Athos stiffen beside him, but he remained silent, allowing Bonacieux to continue uninterrupted.

"Of course I told him that my beloved wife had run off with one of them, forcing me out on the street, and that she's now living in my house, in sin with her lover and his friends."

Even knowing the weaselly nature of Constance's husband D'artagnan was amazed at his version of his cruel abandonment of his wife.

Aramis clearly felt the same, his cool composure slipping for a moment. His voice remained calm but D'artagnan could hear the ice entering his tone.

"As I remember it monsieur, you ran away from your wife and your responsibilities in the middle of the night, taking away any way for her to look after herself. If it wasn't for D'artagnan Constance would have been left to starve in the street!"

Bonacieux shrugged, looking awkward, but continued his story.

"He paid me to show him where you lived and to point out my wife to him. I needed the money so I said yes."

Athos intervened at this point, coming round in front of Bonacieux, His tone as always calm and measured.

"Who was this man?"

"I can't say, he'll kill me!"

At a nod from Athos, Porthos walked round behind Bonacieux. From D'artagnans position he could see the big Musketeer take hold of one of Bonacieux's bound hands.

Athos was talking again.

"I propose another option. While you consider whether to tell us what you know, Porthos is going to break one of your fingers at a time. I'll give you a count of five to decide. One-Two-Three"

"Manier! He said his name was Manier!"

From his position D'artagnan could see Athos' face pale suddenly, and without warning he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Casting a look at the other two, D'artagnan was quickly on his tail, followed by Porthos and Athos, leaving Bonacieux alone.

Their leader was standing outside the door, leaning against the rough wall, seemingly for support, and worriedly scratching his face. "Manier" demanded "D'artagnan, unsettled by Athos's worried, almost frightened stance, "Who is he?"

Aramis laid a reassuring hand on Athos's shoulder, keeping his voice soft. "Tell us old friend, who is he to you?"

Athos looked round at his comrades. "My worst nightmare. He was a Musketeer when I was a raw recruit, in charge of training, and he was a bully. He used to claim he was toughening us up, but it wasn't training, it was humiliation. He'd make us stand for hours in the snow in just our shirts and bare feet while he watched from safe indoors, if anyone got sick they were whipped for absence. He made us fight each other and ran bets on the results. When we were on camps he would make us fight over the food and blankets never giving enough for everybody. It turned out he was making money running a protection racket in Paris, sending the recruits out to ensure that a debts were collected. We had no choice he would have found an excuse to have us thrown out of the regiment if we'd refused and for most of my fellow recruits they had nowhere else to go, being discharged would have meant starving on the street." Athos punched the wall behind him in anger at the memory.

"Go on" urged Porthos

"He ordered me to collect some money from a barrel maker in the slums. When I got there it was to find the man had died and his widow and six children were starving. When I told Manier they had nothing to give, he ordered me to burn the hovel that passed as their home down as a warning to anyone else who dared renege on their supposed debt to him. I knew that as the Comt de la Fere I would have more protection in the outside world than the others, so I finally reported him. He was arrested, sent to the Chatelet prison. I thought he was still safely locked away, but it seems my past has once more caught up with me, and Constance is paying the price."

There was a stunned silence.

"So what do we do about Bonacieux?" asked Porthos

Aramis looked round at his friends.

"I may have an idea about that."


	7. Chapter 7

Constance grimaced to herself as she tried to twist into a more comfortable position on the hard floor. The small room she was in was freezing cold and her arms were numb from being secured in the same position for long periods of time. Exactly how long she had been a captive she wasn't exactly sure of, given her spell of unconsciousness, but she judged it to have been almost two days from the thin beam of light streaming through the tiny window high in the wall.

Apart from the brief encounter when she'd first come round Constance had not seen the man who seemingly had orchestrated her kidnapping. She had been given water to drink and a little food on two occasions, brought to her by two of his goons, her hands untied long enough each time to gulp down the meagre rations before being firmly bound again. Thankfully they'd refrained from gagging her again, the threat of what would happen to her if she screamed was enough to ensure her silence. Constance had come to both anticipate and dread these visits to her cell; grateful for the sustenance, but terrified of the hungry looks in the men's eyes as they looked down at her, making her feel like a piece of meat. Constance felt sure she could cope with any physical violence metered out to her, but the fear that these men would use her for their own pleasure caused a hard block of icy dread to settle in the pit of her almost empty stomach.

If she listened hard she could make out the sound of voices talking in the room beyond her cell, too muffled to pick up any words, but she had learnt to pick up different tones amongst the four or five men she estimated to be hiding out in the room. Constance dozed fitfully, resting her head against the hard wall, allowing her head to fill with images of D'artagnan; the way his eyes creased when he smiled, the way it felt to be safe and warm, wrapped in his arms, the intoxicating touch of his lips on hers, sending her weak at the knees. Her reverie was broken by the sounds of raised voices from the room next door. She froze in shock as she recognised a new voice in the hubbub.

Suddenly the door to her room banged open and two of the men who had been bringing her food entered. Roughly they grabbed her arms, pulling her to her feet and out into the main room. The leader of the gang stood in the centre of the room, pistol pointed at a cowering figure on the floor. From her position behind Manier she could clearly see the face of the man on the floor. Constance's legs threatened to go out from under her when she recognised the cringing figure as that of her estranged husband. He held his hands out in surrender, the begging tone in his voice desperate. "You have to help me! They'll be after me now I've escaped."

Manier looked down the barrel his weapon, causing Bonacieux to visibly flinch. "What do you mean escaped?"

"They kidnapped me, dragged me off the street to question me, I thought they'd kill me, but I was too smart for them. I convinced that idiot D'artagnan to untie me, and when he did I knocked him out and made my escape. I came straight here to beg for your protection,"

Constance could not help from calling out at that, forgetting her fear in her anger. "You snivelling coward. D'artagnan's twice the man you'll ever be!"

"Shut her up!" Manier ordered sharply, not even turning round to look at her, and immediately a large hand clamped tightly over her mouth, silencing her protests. She struggled uselessly in their grip as Manier reached down and grabbed Bonacieux by the collar, dragging him to his feet. "The Musketeers are many things but they are not idiots. You didn't escape, they let you go you fool. They'll be following you, and you led them to me!"

As he spoke he was bending down to a patch of floor in the corner, clearing away the dust and straw, and opening an almost invisible hatchway. Beckoning to his men, Constance found herself being dragged towards the dark hole, before being lifted off her feet and thrown over one of their shoulders and carried down the ladder that led from the hatch down into the darkness below. Bonacieux was pushed down after her. Manier was last down the ladder, closing the hatch above his head, and bringing with him a small lantern. Looking round in the dim light cast from the lantern Constance could see they were at the mouth of what seemed to be a tunnel leading away from the building. "What are we doing down here?" whined her husband.

"You were stupid enough to lead the Musketeers here; it doesn't mean they're going to find us when they arrive." Manier's smile was chilling as he took hold of Constance and pulled her to him. "You didn't think I'd be so foolish as to keep your lovely wife somewhere without a second exit did you? These tunnels were built by smugglers years ago, and do come in handy at times like these." At that moment there was the unmistakeable sound of movement in the room up above. Silently Manier drew his dagger and held it to Constance's throat, clamping his other hand over her mouth and pulling her head back against his chest. With a single breath he blew out the lantern, leaving the small group in the pitch black.

Constance's heart leapt in her chest as she recognised the unmistakeable sound of D'artagnan and Aramis calling her name, the heavier footsteps of Porthos and Athos close behind, doors slamming open, obviously searching for her. Merely feet away from them she prayed that one of the group would spot the outline of the trap door, but it was too well hidden from even a Musketeers keen eyes. To Constance it seemed like hours, but in reality it was only a few minutes before they heard the main door of the building close, and silence fell once more. As her frightened brain registered how close she'd come to rescue she sagged in Manier's arms, a single tear falling down her cheek. She blinked as one of Manier's men lit a torch, illuminating the space with a flickering orange light. Quiet enough that only she could hear it Manier whispered in her ear, reaching up to brush the moisture off her cheeks, "Don't cry my pretty one, you'll see your lover boy and his friends soon enough." He raised his voice to address the others "We have to go find some new lodgings." Turning her, he pushed her in front of him, as the small group set off down the tunnel.

It seemed to Constance they had been walking for miles. Guided by the meagre torch light, the floor was rough and uneven and her hands bound behind her severely impaired her balance. Several times she stumbled, once falling flat on her face. Manier had ordered Bonacieux to help her up, but the coward had seemed unwilling to give her more than the most perfunctory assistance, flatly refusing to look her in the eye when she did at last struggle to her feet. After her years of marriage to the man his lack of care made Constance feel sick, and she couldn't help but compare his actions to the gentle unquestioning chivalry of D'artagnan.

As she limped along she realised that the blackness of the tunnel was lifting and a short while later she found herself standing underneath a similar hatchway to the one at the start of their journey. Light was filtering through the cracks in the floorboards above, and as Manier climbed the ladder and pushed the trapdoor open she blinked in the early morning light. She was half carried half pushed up the ladder, and thrown into the corner of the room as Bonacieux emerged from the hole to find Manier once again pointing his pistol at his face. "What are you doing?" he demanded, "I came to you for protection!"

Manier didn't move, his aim unwavering. Panicked Bonacieux fell to his knees, crawling closer to Constance as he snivelled. "You wouldn't harm a man in front of his wife would you?"

"You ceased to be her husband the day you betrayed her to me for the price of a few coins, and you were stupid enough to let them follow you. You're a liability, a coward and cannot be trusted, and I cannot and will not let you jeopardise this operation any further."

"I'll be on my way then, never bother you again."

A moments pause then Manier nodded, lowering his gun. Bonacieux rose to his feet, not sparing a glance for his wife curled on the floor by his side. "Au revoir then Monsieur."

The next few seconds seemed to Constance to pass in slow motion. As Bonacieux stood upright Manier raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. There was the deafening retort of gunfire, and then a red flower seemed to blossom on her husband's chest as the bullet impacted. Knocked backwards by the impact his body fell across Constance's, his head coming to rest inches from her own, and as she watched he took a last rattling breath, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth before his eyes glassed over as the last spark of life left him.

Constance was too stunned to make a noise, left completely in shock. The front of her dress was drenched with the still warm blood of her husband and she remained pinned to the floor by his body. Callously Manier rolled the corpse off her with his foot, summoning his men with a gesture, "Get rid of that." She watched trembling as two of them dragged the body to the trapdoor and dropped it down the tunnel before closing the hatchway. Manier approached the petrified Constance and bent to refasten the tight gag over her mouth. "I'm sorry you had to see that, but I learnt long ago not to give people second chances. I couldn't risk him leading them to us again."Constance simply closed her eyes, trembling violently as she prayed for an escape from the blood soaked nightmare she was enveloped in.


	8. Ultimatum

Athos regarded the empty wine bottles on the tavern table in front of him with contempt, and signalled the barkeep for another bottle. Not even bothering with a glass he tipped the ruby red liquid straight down his throat. It had been a while since he'd taken himself off alone to drink himself to oblivion but the day's events still played heavily on his mind, and he knew that he would need the drink before he could return to the house and look into D'artagnan's haunted face.

Their plan had been carried out perfectly. Bonacieux had been allowed to 'escape', and like the coward he was he immediately returned straight to a building in the slums of Paris, undoubtedly seeking protection. Things had fallen apart however when they had stormed the building mere minutes after watching Bonacieux enter, and found the place deserted. D'artagnan had collapsed to his knees, and had to be helped home by Aramis and Porthos, who stayed with him now. Athos had not even gone back to the house; he had headed straight to the nearest tavern and began to drink.

He knew that the longer Constance was missing, the less likely it was that they would find her alive, and now he felt guiltier than he ever had in his life that the suffering of a woman he had grown to regard as a sister was down to his past life.

He didn't look up as someone sat on the stool opposite him, their face hidden by the wide brim of his hat, as he rested his chin on his chest "Go away Aramis."

His stomach lurched as he recognised the voice that replied. "Oh I'm afraid your friends are still looking after that lovesick puppy you've taken to dragging round after you."

Athos looked up as Manier reached across the table for the bottle of wine and took a long swig. Before he could even finish swallowing, Athos was on his feet, sword drawn from his hilt and pointed unwaveringly at Manier's chest. Athos was vaguely aware of other faces in the bar turning to look at the disturbance, but the villain returned the bottle to the table and smiled congenially at him.

"I'd put that away if I were you, before you put someone's eye out."

Athos remained still, the point of his sword inches from Maniers skin, as he fought to keep himself calm. With effort he replied in an even tone "And why shouldn't I just run you through now?"

"Because if you do, you will never see the lovely Constance alive again."

"And what's to stop me from breaking every bone in your body one at a time until you tell me where you're hiding her?"

Manier tipped his seat back in a studied display of nonchalance.

"Because the only thing stopping the gentlemen in my employee who are looking after the lady from taking their pleasure with her is my precise instructions that she is not to be touched. However if I do not return within the hour, unfollowed and unharmed, those instructions are to be disregarded and they will use her to fill whatever sadistic desires are written in their black black hearts, before dumping her body on your doorstep where you will see exactly what your actions have caused"

Athos suddenly found he was shaking, blood rushing in his ears and seeing for a moment that Manier had the upper hand, he sank down onto the bench, taking a long swig of wine.

"Why are you doing this?"

Maniers face contorted with suppressed rage. "Because you destroyed my life. I was a Musketeer, I protected the King. I was a somebody. I was respected. And you took that all away from me!"

"You were a sadistic bully, and a criminal, and you abused the Kings Uniform for your own twisted end."

Maniers smile twisted and his hand shot across the table, grabbing a handful of Athos' jacket and dragging him across the narrow table top till their faces were close enough that Athos could smell the wine on Maniers breath. "You always were a self righteous, pompous little idiot. The aristocrat playing at being a soldier. Blinded by ideas of decency and honour. So let's say you and I agree to meet again tomorrow at noon, outside the Wren. I'll bring the girl, you bring your friends, and by the way, just your friends, no one else, and we'll l see if we can, how shall I put it? Hammer out our differences." Roughly he shoved Athos back into his seat, before standing and lifting his hat to the shaken Musketeer in a mocking salute as he swept out of the tavern. "Until tomorrow Comte."


	9. The night before

Staggering into the kitchen of Constance's house a short while later Athos was surprised to find Aramis sat at the table, head resting on his arm, snoring softly. Loudly he cleared his throat, causing Aramis to jump violently, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw Athos methodically checking through the bottles on the table, hunting for any remaining wine in them. "Where's Porthos?" he asked. Aramis poured him a tumbler of water from the pitcher on the side and handed it to him with a pointed look. "He's upstairs with D'artagnan making sure he goes to bed tonight. The boys not slept properly since Constance was taken. It took a whole bottle of wine before he admitted that he's not even gotten into bed properly since she vanished." Athos took a gulp of the water, pulling a face. " This isn't going to do the trick." He stumbled outside into the dark courtyard making his way to the well, filled a bucket and dunked his entire head, the shock of the cold water clearing his head effectively from the after effects of the alcohol A few seconds later he straightened out again, shaking the water from his hair and eyes like a dog to find Aramis sitting on the lip of the well, holding out a towel, an amused look in his eyes. Athos sat next to him, drying his face. "That's more like it."

Both men looked up as Porthos walked out of the house and over to join them. "The kids asleep at last. Had to threaten to knock him out myself if he didn't go to bed properly though." He looked at Athos speculatively, noticing the troubled look in his eyes. "What happened?"

Athos looked at his two best friends. "Manier found me at the tavern tonight." He saw both men start with surprise, Porthos fists curling at the mention of the villains name. " Can't believe he was that stupid. Where is he then? I can't wait to beat some answers out of that guy."

"He's gone."

Porthos looked stupefied as Athos continued "He arrived, I pulled my sword on him, he threatened Constance. If I didn't let him go, he said ..." Suddenly his breath hitched in his throat as he recalled Maniers threat. Aramis laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Go on Athos."

"He said that if I prevented him from leaving, his men would use Constance to fill their own sadistic desires and dump her body on our doorstep." Aramis paled, and even Porthos looked shaken. "But if Manier was a Musketeer, surely even he would have some standards, some honour."

Athos laughed shortly, and shook his head. "You don't know him. There were rumours amongst the recruits. If any of his debtors couldn't pay up it was said that he would extend the loan agreement if the debtor sent his wife or even his daughter for a night in Manier's lodgings."

He's bringing Constance tomorrow at noon. We four are to meet him outside the Wren, where I have no doubt he means to kill us all."

"So that'll be an ambush then, probably one that involves us being wildly outnumbered and out gunned?" Porthos asked. Athos raised his head to see the familiar glint of battle in the big musketeers eyes. "Almost certainly." Porthos just nodded slowly, and grinned "Good. I hate it when the bad guys make it too easy for us."

Aramis looked at them both. "What about D'artagnan?"

"What about him?"

"Should we wake him and tell him what's happened?"

"There's no need." All three of them jumped as D'artagnans voice intruded into their quiet discussion and he walked over from where he was standing by the kitchen door to join the trio by the well. Athos suddenly noticed he had tied Constance's hair ribbon around his wrist as a though it were a good luck talisman.

The youngest of them was clearly tired but his voice was clear and steady as he spoke to his three friends. "I heard what happened Athos. And tomorrow when we have Constance safely back with us, and Manier is cold and dead with my sword embedded in his chest, I'll sleep, but tonight we have plans to make." Athos smiled at him, prouder than ever of his young protégé . "He's right. Constance is one of us after all." Solemnly he extended a hand into the space in the middle of their circle. "All for one."

The collective voices joined in the familiar vow as three other hands were rested on his.

"And one for all."


	10. The break of day

Constance shivered in the morning cold, huddling tighter into the corner of the room, clenching and unclenching her fists in a futile attempt to stave off the agonising cramps caused from having her hands bound for so long. She had not been taken to a separate room since her husbands murder at her captors hand and instead had been kept in the furthest corner from the door while the men who held her whiled away the hours playing cards, drinking and sharpening their swords and cleaning and priming their guns. In addition to being bound , the front of her dress was stiff with her husbands dried blood and her arms and chest were equally streaked with coppery red. Constance had not had a moments sleep throughout the long cold night, haunted by nightmare images of her husbands broken body.

The evening before, Manier had disappeared for a few hours, but far from causing her to relax, she had spent the time trying to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible as the men regarded her with hungry eyes, whispering amongst themselves and laughing filthily as one of them made an undoubtedly lewd joke.

Manier had been gone for just under two hours when the biggest of the goons finally approached her, crouching beside her and grabbing a tight hold on her hair, making her squeal in pain as she was pulled face to face with him, so close as to be able to feel his foul breath on her cheeks. "Manier said if he weren't back we could have you to play with sweet thing, and I ain't waiting no more." He ripped away her gag and forced his mouth over hers. The hand not fisted in her hair grabbed at her dress, pulling down the neck which ripped with a loud tearing sound. Desperately squirming she bit down hard on the tongue invading her mouth causing her tormentor to swear violently as he withdrew sharply, spitting blood and backhanding her across her already bruised cheek, sending her tumbling back to the floor. "I'll make you pay for that you little bitch." Constance backed as far away from him as she could, as he advanced on her. With nowhere to run Constance closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable touch of his filthy hands on her skin. After a few seconds nothing had happened and screwing up the threads of her courage she opened her eyes again.

Her tormentor was frozen above her, but behind him Manier stood, a look of quiet fury on his face as he held a knife to the goons throat. "I told you two hours. Two hours Petre, you jumped the gun my friend." He withdrew the knife and stepped round to face the unfortunate goon, who now looked almost as scared as Constance felt. Next time I tell you to wait you wait. Understand?" Petre nodded rapidly as Manier continued. "I am only sparing you because tomorrow I am going to need every shooter I can get. Do not let me down again." Without warning he punched the man hard, and the goons head snapped back, blood pouring from his nose as he staggered back to his cronies.

Manier dropped to his haunches in front of Constance reaching out to her to gently pull the ripped bodice of her dress to cover her modesty again. He rested a hand on the less injured side of her face, thumb rubbing her cheek in what could have been mistaken as an almost tender gesture. "I apologise for that, some men have no idea how to treat a lady." Standing up again he addressed the room as a whole. "Tonight no cards, no drinking, no brawling. If you're not on watch, you're asleep. Because tomorrow is a big day."

Throughout the morning the activity in the small room became intense as the number of men grew till there were over twenty of them crowded into the space, all of them arming themselves with an alarming selection of pistols, muskets, swords and blades, Manier moving amongst the issuing orders and occasionally gesturing towards a plan laid on an upturned crate. Eventually at a signal from Manier the men began to empty from the room, Manier and her previous nights tormentor Petre approaching the corner where she curled on the floor. Petre took a cruelly tight hold of her arms, hauling her to her feet while Manie pulled a length of black cloth from his pocket and proceeded to tie it round her eyes, fastening it securely behind her head entirely obscuring her vision. "Don't worry sweetheart, we're going to meet your friends." He whispered in her ear, before she felt herself being lifted from the floor and carried out of the room over the burly Petres shoulder and out into the morning air.


End file.
